The Most Important Ingredient
by theshymuffin
Summary: It's Adrien and Marinette's first Christmas as a couple, and he doesn't have a clue what to get her. What's a cat to do? A Christmas story told in two parts. Post reveal, short n fluffy. Adrien is a sad muffin.
1. Part One

ON the first day of December, on a quiet street in Paris, on the floor above a small bakery, the Dupain and Cheng family were gearing up for Christmas. Their living room was littered with cardboard boxes and decorations, and a tree, just waiting to be _spruced_ up.

Adrien didn't believe there was a better place to be. Fresh pine and peppermint hung in the air, supper lay cooking in the oven, and Tom led out in singing carols. Adrien's personal favorite being the baker's The Twelve Days of Christmas _pastry_ edition.

While Tom and Sabine sorted which decorations were for the apartment, and which were meant for the bakery, they set the younger pair on a more tedious task. Adrien sat on the floor behind the couch, fingers fumbling through the tangled heap that lay before him. Though he didn't mind. He got to see Marinette's adorable expression of concentration, sapphire eyes intent, as she patiently worked with the string of lights. Every once in a while, whenever she came across a portion that was particularly arduous, her tongue would peek out.

The sight was cute enough to make the whole undertaking completely worth it.

Now she rose from the floor, and planted a hand on Adrien's shoulder to assist her up. Once she was sturdy on her own two feet, she stretched her arms out, to help ease the stiffness in her limbs. "I need something warm to drink," she said, though it was barely intelligible through the massive yawn that escaped her. "You want something?"

Adrien glanced up from the Christmas lights coiled in his lap. "What are you having?"

Her hand dropped to absently thread through his golden hair as she thought. "Mmm. . . I was thinking chamomile sounded nice."

"Do you have peppermint?"

"We should," she replied.

Adrien tilted his head up, better to see her reaction to what he said next. "Is it in _mint_ condition?"

She scoffed, and shot him a sideways glance.

He nudged his shoulder against her leg, and a mischievous glint filled his eyes. "Festivi _tea?_ "

Tom burst into a rumble of laughter, from his spot near the tree. "Good one, Adrien!"

"Papa, please!" Marinette shook her head. "Don't encourage him."

His mouth sobered a bit under his bushy mustache, but his eyes still twinkled in humour. "Of course, sugar muffin. I'll try and remember next time."

Because there _would_ no doubt, be a next time. Adrien's grin spread wider.

Satisfied, Marinette turned her back, and stepped into the kitchenette. What she didn't see, was the wink Tom shot Adrien.

"So. . ." The baker cast a meaningful look at his wife. "Honey bunny?"

She didn't look up from the box of red bows she was currently rummaging through. "Yes, dear?"

"Do you know what you're giving me for Christmas?"

Sabine finally met his playful gaze. "And you're not getting _any_ hints this year."

Tom's expression soured. "Not one?"

She tilted her head. "Mm. Not a single one."

Adrien turned to look over his shoulder, where Marinette was pouring hot water into two mugs. "Hey, Marinette?"

"Mmhm?" She set the kettle back on the stove top, and lowered the tea bags in. She came over, one in each hand. "What is it?"

Adrien's gaze flicked back to her parents. "What are they talking about?"

She placed his cup of tea into his hands and smiled. "Well, every year for Christmas, Mama and Papa exchange a new recipe with each other."

"Oh." Adrien's eyes fell to his mug. "That's cool."

"It is," she said. "But Papa is terrible about trying to figure out what she's picked out."

As if to prove her point, Tom poked his head around the tree. "Is it savory this year?"

Sabine just hummed and shook her head. "I'm not saying a word, sugar."

"Sugar!" his booming voice filled the room. "Then it's sweet!"

"Perhaps."

Marinette giggled. "He never gives up, Mama." She settled on the floor beside Adrien, and crossed her legs, tucking her fuzzy, slippered feet beneath her.

Adrien placed his tea to steep on the floor, and turned his attention back to detangling the lights. He tried to disguise his thoughtfulness as being wrapped up in the task, but really, his mind was pulling him away. Because this was the first time it had struck him, that he would have to get Marinette a gift. And he didn't have a _clue_ what to get her.

He was startled from his thoughts by Tom. "Look!" He drew the curtains aside, to reveal the pale, dusk lit sky, peppered by white flakes. The first snow.

Marinette nearly spilt her chamomile, she jumped up so fast. She didn't hesitate to grab Adrien's hand and drag him along for the trek across the room, until she stilled in front of the window. They both pressed closer to get a better look, and eventually their faces were glued to the window pane. It was like ice on their skin, but neither cared, overcome by the wonder filled sight. Their breath fogged the glass, but Marinette was quick to swipe it away with the sleeve of her sweater.

Adrien tore his gaze away from the snowfall to look at Marinette. She wasn't grinning as wide as him, but her eyes were filled with a dreamy glow. She's claimed many a time that she doesn't like winter or the cold, but he knew she liked it more than she let on. "Promise me a snowball fight?" he asked, a bit uncertain.

Her eyes scrunched in a gentle smile, and her bright eyes flickered to his. "You're on, kitty."

* * *

There was only one thing to be done. It was ten days until Christmas, and Adrien needed backup. There was only one person who could help him now.

He ran a hand through his hair, about ready to pull it out. It was already a quarter past seven, and though it wasn't entirely unexpected. . . She was late.

Not that he'd complain aloud. Alya was a bit intimidating, if he was being honest.

They'd agreed to meet at the coffee shop, a block from her house. At least. . . he'd finally given in. She'd been quite adamant, her exact words being "if you're going to drag me out at that hour of the morning, _on a Saturday,_ you can wait ten minutes while I get a drink. If I don't caffeine, you _will_ regret it, Agreste."

When he'd arrived, and she was nowhere to be found, he shot her a text, asking her for her order. He drummed his fingers against the side of his leg as he waited in line, and silently lamented that the overall "Christmas cheer" was not working in his favor. Sure, it was nice that people were smiling and wishing each other a merry holiday and all that jazz, but he had things to do, places to be, _gifts to buy._

Finally, it was his turn to order. "Two coffees, one black and one caramel. With extra cream, please."

His eyes roamed to the snowflake stickers that dotted the windows. Adrien had never been in this cafe before, as it was a bit out of the way of his regular routes, but apparently it was Alya's favorite. He liked the dark brick and dim lighting. It made the place feel cozy. Though there were so many strong scents, his slightly enhanced sense of smell made the room a bit overwhelming. But that was normal, ever since he'd acquired the connection to his kwami.

Simply because they reminded him of a certain girl with bluebell eyes and freckles, he purchased a paper box of strawberry tarts with powdered sugar dusting the tops. He payed, and with two to go cups in hand, and the box tucked beneath his left arm, he headed for the exit.

Through the glass doors, he could see where his driver had parked the car across the street, engine still running. Adrien pushed through the exit, into the crisp morning air. The snow, beginning to soften, crunched underfoot as he strode over the crosswalk. He was thankful for the warm drinks in hand, and for the scarf his Father had given him for his birthday last year. The soft knit wrapped around him, and somehow, it even lifted his mood.

Adrien got into the car, and set down the beverages, allowing the tarts to rest in his lap. He slipped out his phone and sent Alya a text, to let her know he was waiting out front. He'd just tapped _send_ when the car door swung open. Adrien squeaked in surprise, his phone flying from his hands to the carpeted floor between his feet.

Alya slid in beside him, and gave him a dry look. "What're you so jumpy for?"

His hand remained where it had landed, pressed to his chest. "There's this thing called knocking?"

"Coffee?"

Adrien swallowed, and slowly, his heart rate evened to a more moderate speed. "Just like you asked."

Her hands wrapped greedily around the insulated cup. "Ah, that's better." She took a long whiff of her fresh drink. "So what's the game plan?"

Adrien nodded to the driver, a signal for him to pull away from the curb. "I've picked out a couple of shops that might have something. Though I don't really have any idea of what I'm searching for. . ." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Do you know what you're getting her?"

"Of course."

His shoulders slumped, disheartened by her surety.

"I found the _purr_ fect thing." Her eyes glinted mischievously as she leaned closer to whisper, even though they were alone in the backseat. The partition provided them with a bit of privacy from Adrien's bodyguard up front. Not that he'd tell anyone if he overheard. "It's. . . a Chat Noir onesie."

The drink was poorly timed. Adrien choked, and burst into a fit of coughing. Though perhaps it served as an excuse as to why his cheeks had flushed red.

At the first store, they didn't have much luck. Or the second. Or the third. By the sixth store, Alya was growing impatient. The last of the strawberry tarts were gone, and Adrien had to drag her past every vending machine and cafe they passed.

"You can't do this to me," Alya said, as they drifted past shelves of craft supplies. "What kind of friend are you, that you would just watch me starve?"

"When we find Marinette's gift, I'll buy you a six course meal at your favorite restaurant." Adrien spun to face her, hands clasped in a pleading gesture. _"Please?"_

Without missing a beat, she reached for the first thing she saw, and held it out. A pack of pencils, in varying sizes and leads. "This." She forced it into his hand, and began to push him from the aisle.

"No, Alya, stop." He sidestepped, and hurried to put them back. "She already has this same set. I can't get her these."

"Pencils all look the same anyway," she grumbled, eyes intent on the tiled floor.

Adrien set the package carefully back into its home. For the first time since he got out of bed that morning, he stilled. His feet seemed heavy, his arms hung limp at his sides. Perhaps Alya had a point. He'd been picky beyond belief, and she'd had to put up with it all.

It's not like he hadn't found anything at all. There'd been that pair of bunny slippers that reminded him of her. And a pink coat that practically screamed her name. But nothing felt quite right. This was their first Christmas together, after all. It had to be perfect.

Alya snagged him by the arm, and pulled him onward. "Don't look now, but I think those girls are tailing us." She yanked him into an aisle full of yarn, all colors of the rainbow. "I saw them at the last store too."

Adrien did exactly what he was told not to do, and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, two girls, maybe thirteen or fourteen were trailing behind them. They squeaked when they realized they'd been spotted, and broke into a fit of giggles. He sighed. "Yeah. I think you're right."

They made a hasty retreat, back onto the sidewalks. Adrien spared a glance behind them, and sure enough, the same girls stepped out the craft store.

"I'm sorry," he said, and forced his attention ahead of them.

"It's not your fault." She shrugged. "If they do catch up, and try and give you a hard time, they'll have to deal with me."

Somehow that made him feel better. Even so, the first chance they got, after rounding a street corner, they ducked into a shop in an effort to ditch them. For a fleeting moment, Adrien wondered if fate had brought him here, and he'd find the _perfect_ present.

It wasn't quite as he'd hoped. The whole front of the store, nearly every inch, was decked out in red and black. There was Ladybug merch _everywhere._

Adrien paled, and wondered if this was what people meant when they said they felt faint. Because he really could have dropped right then and there.

He turned right on his heel and he ran. He ran out the store, and nearly ran smack into the two girls tailing him. Their eyes turned round, and they barely stepped back in time to avoid a collision.

"Adrien!" This was Alya, somewhere behind him. "If you make me run another second, you will pay!"

He skidded to a stop, the sidewalk slick with snow under his shoes. His chest heaved with lung fulls of frosted air, and his head was swimming. It was almost out of necessity that he collapsed onto a nearby bench. He leaned forward, hands pressed to his face.

A few moments passed, before Alya finally arrived, and slid into the spot beside him. "Yo, Adrien."

"I'm doomed."

"Look." She settled her shopping bags in her lap. One of them contained the game Adrien had helped her pick out for Nino. It had helped him feel less guilty about taking up her time. Now, she laid a hesitant hand on his back. "You know whatever you get Marinette, she's going to love it. That's just who she is."

He only sunk lower. "But that's _why_ it has to be something amazing. Because _she is_ that kind of person." He tugged at the fringe of his hair. "She deserves something awesome."

Alya sighed. Then slowly, her exasperation turned to a devious smirk. "So. . . what you're saying is, that my Chat Noir onesie _isn't_ awesome?"

He shot up straight in his seat, eyes wide with fear. "N-no! It is, really. Uh, it's. . . pawesome!"

Her smile widened, albeit a bit faltering, taken by surprise at the pun. "Thanks."

Adrien turned his head, to cast a faraway look at the snow laden horizon. "Thanks, Alya. For everything. Even if I couldn't find the right gift, you still spent you morning trying to help." He scraped his shoe against the snow gathered around the bench, and left an indent. "You're pretty cool. You know that?"

Alya tilted her head. "You should be grateful, y'know. Not only am I pretty cool, I'm also freezing my butt off sitting here." She jumped off the bench, and swiped the snow from the back of her coat. "Come on."

"What?"

"I said come on." She put a hand to her hip. "We're not giving up now. That's not how Alya Césaire does it. We're getting Marinette's present today. Get off your butt and let's get some shopping done!"

Her enthusiasm did little to stir him. His head drooped. "It won't do any good." Still, he stood. "But I will do one more thing."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm taking you out for lunch." He gave a sheepish smile. "What kind of friend would I be, if I let you starve?"

And though no one could see, snuggled beneath Adrien's coat, tucked in his shirt pocket, Plagg gave a single, grave nod of agreement.

* * *

After a long day, be it after photo shoots, seemingly endless classes, or a fruitless morning spent shopping, there was no place Adrien would rather be than the Boulangerie Patisserie. The warm ovens, the fresh bread, and of course, the sweetness of Marinette and her parents. He's thought, silently, many times, that he doesn't believe he knew what home felt like until he found his way here.

Marinette was out, gone shopping herself, so Adrien settled into the kitchen. Sabine was quick to set him to work, cutting out sugar cookies. The first few came out a bit lopsided, but soon enough, he picked up the right pressure for rolling out the dough, and took such care cutting them out, it earned him a silent smile from both bakers, he hoped, because they were proud.

The first tray of reindeer and snowflakes went into the oven. Adrien absently drew squiggles in the flour that blanketed the table, as Tom brought another batch of dough over. "Does your family have a lot of Christmas traditions?" Adrien asked. Not because he was attempting to make polite conversation, but because he genuinely wanted to know, to learn more about them.

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary," Tom replied. "We decorate the tree together, bake lots of Christmas goodies, and stay up late on Christmas Eve to watch old classics."

Adrien's gaze dropped intently on his work with the cookie cutter. But his mind was faraway, in a time when Christmas was something he looked forward to. When he'd had someone to share it with. Because he realized, it wasn't the act of a tradition that made it special. It was the people you did it with. "Those. . . all sound really nice."

"What about you?" Sabine set a flour dusted snowman onto the cookie sheet. "Does your family have any special traditions?"

It caught him off guard. In hindsight, perhaps he should have expected the question to come back around to him. To his. . . family. Instead of dwelling on more recent years, he reminded himself of the things his Mother used to do with him during the holidays. "We would wear special Christmas socks and go 'skating' on the floor in the front entryway." His voice quieted. "But, that was a few years ago."

For a second, he was overcome with an ache to return to that moment in time. When his mom had sung, more off key than himself to Christmas tunes. And then when they were out of breath, they'd have hot cider and try to guess what Santa would put in their stocking that year.

The last of the cookies went in to bake, and Adrien was left without a task to occupy himself. That made it worse. That made him remember.

Perhaps Sabine sensed this, and took pity on him. Or perhaps she was just in a 'get things done' kinda mood. She got like that sometimes. Either way, she sent Adrien up to the apartment to wrap some of the cardboard boxes sitting under the tree.

"They should have the to's and from's written somewhere on the package, dear," she said. "The wrapping paper is already out. Though you may have to look for tape."

"I'll check Marinette's room." He took the first step of the stairs, a warm feeling inside when he realized what he was being entrusted with. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything."

Though this particular quest brought to the forefront of his mind how he'd failed to find Marinette's present. He knew, somewhere inside, that Alya was right. His jaw clenched as he took up the first box, and lay it over the sheet of wrapping paper. He realized, with a nearly overwhelming sense of bitterness, that Marinette would be content with a pen, like one of the many his Father had gifted him over the years.

But that's not what he wanted. He wanted to show just how much he cared. How much he cared about _her._


	2. Part Two

MARINETTE was faced with an impossible challenge. She stood on the sidewalk, bundled in her powder blue coat and thick scarf that shimmered like the freshly fallen snow. Her arms laden with shopping bags, she was unable to turn the doorknob. So she stood, growing colder in the evening chill, craving the warmth that lay waiting behind the door.

She shot a glance behind her back. Cars went past, and a couple and their child walked the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps the coast was clear enough to permit a bit of magical assistance. This wasn't exactly an emergency, but she was _so_ ready to put this load down, and snuggle up in her house with a cup of tea and her sketchbook.

"Tiki?" she whispered. Her voice wavered from the shiver that was slowly overcoming her. "Could you maybe open the door for me?"

The kwami flitted from her purse, merely a red streak, before she phased through the solid wood. There was a click, and the door opened, just a crack. But it was enough.

With a satisfied grin, Marinette stuck her foot in the opening, and pushed through till she was in the confines of the stairwell. "Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you." Again, she maneuvered the door with her foot and firmly closed it behind her.

The tiny god gave her companion a starry smile, and a giggle escaped her. "You're most welcome!"

They ascended the stairs, the scent of fresh cookies growing stronger with each step. Luckily the door to the living space was open, and Marinette burst in, hurriedly shrugging the fruits of her afternoon spent shopping over the back of the couch into the cushions.

The bags were filled with fabric for matching aprons she planned to sew for her parents, and little knick knacks for the gift exchange with her class, and more wrapping paper and tape, and candy canes her mother asked her to pick up for the bakery, and the list went on and on. . .

"I should know better than to put off shopping until so close to Christmas." Marinette tugged at her scarf, and it managed to muss her hair before she pulled it free. "I do this every year, Tiki."

The kwami, a bit chilled herself, rubbed her paws together as if to warm herself. "Mm. I agree."

Marinette slipped out of her shoes and unbuttoned her coat. She rounded the couch, and with a great sigh of relief, she slumped into the seat, arms splayed to the side. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she would have been perfectly content to fall asleep right there. Except one thing seemed off. With a start, she sat upright, and her gaze landed on the tree. Specifically, what lay beneath it.

A heap of red wrapping paper, wrinkled beyond measure, stretched out from the lowest boughs, in a shape that was very human like. Poking out the very end, was the majority of an orange sneaker.

Baffled, she got to her feet and moved closer. She paused beside the tree, and stared down at the odd sight before her. A giggle slipped out and she lowered to a crouch, then settled cross legged in front of the tree. "What on earth are you doing?"

The only response she received was a muffled "Mmph."

"Adrien." A frown knit on her face, as worry overshadowed the humour of the situation. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything is wrong."

She pursed her lips. "Adrien, come out, please."

"Nope."

Marinette rolled her eyes. Deciding that a different tactic would be more effective, she picked herself off the floor, and headed down into the bakery. She knew she'd smelled fresh cookies. Papa pulled a tray out, even as she entered the kitchen. Mama was at the table, icing away.

"Oh, Marinette, you're back," she said.

"Yes, Mama." Marinette came up beside her, and watched as her mother put the final touches on a Santa cookie. "Um. . ." She prodded one of the bags of colored icing that lay out. "Do you know what's up with Adrien? He's acting. . . odd." Well, more odd than usual, anyways.

Her Mama glanced away from her decorating to face Marinette. "He was in here earlier. Helped your Papa and I cut out these batches of sugar cookies. He seemed a little glum," she admitted. "But I thought it was because he had his parents on his mind." Worry clouded her eyes. "We got to talking about family traditions. . . I sent him up to wrap presents to distract him, but it might still be bothering him."

Marinette's heart fell. Of course. Christmas. When people spent time with their families. No wonder he was down. "Should I try and talk to him about it?"

Papa stroked his mustache. "I'm not sure, sugar dumpling."

"Here." Mama took a dish from one of the cabinets, and began setting fresh cookies on it. "Maybe these will cheer him up."

She accepted the plate, and nodded. "Thanks, Mama."

Marinette returned upstairs, and ventured into the kitchen area to retrieve a big glass of milk, knowing it would tempt as much or more than the sweets would. She went and sat again by the tree. Adrien hadn't moved an inch while she was away. She said nothing, only placed the cookies and milk on the floor beside her.

Of course, he'd heard her come back. Though the smell alone, of the fresh baked goods was enough to get him to stir. "Marinette, this isn't fair."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You're trying to lure me out. Trying to get me to talk."

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Oh?"

"Well it won't work."

"Guess I'll just have to eat them myself, then." She selected a snowman off the plate, and took a bite, as loudly as she could manage, as the cookies were quite soft. "Wow. These are good."

He moaned.

"Give up?"

Adrien sat up, paper tearing at the seams as a hand popped out. He slid a reindeer off the plate, and pushed his head through to take a bite. He gave her a pointedly dark look, but took another bite before speaking. "This isn't fair."

She grinned at the crumbs dribbled around his mouth and down his chin. She held out the glass of milk with a sugary smile. "Feel like talking now?"

His gaze dropped to the floor, and his glower turned to something softer, but oh so sad. And a piece of her heart broke, just to see it.

"Adrien. . .?"

"I don't have a present for you," he said, barely a whisper. He pressed a hand over his face. "I was shopping with Alya _all morning._ And I still couldn't find anything."

Marinette slid closer, until they sat side by side. She looped an arm through his, and leaned against his shoulder with a _crunch_ of paper, as he was still relatively covered in it. She briefly wondered how on _earth_ he managed to wrap himself up like that, but doubted asking would help him feel better. "Adrien, it's okay."

His grip tightened around the glass of milk. "No. It's not."

"Yes it is," she said, her voice soft, but firm.

"Marinette." He set the glass down, then fixed her with a frustrated look. "This is our first Christmas as a couple. I wanted to get you something special, and now I have nothing. And you've probably made me something amazing and sweet and. . . it's not 'okay'."

She only nuzzled closer. "You know what my Papa says about baking?"

"Don't burn the croissants?"

"No." She giggled, despite being quite serious. "He says that 'the most important ingredient is love'."

"How's that even an ing-" Adrien stilled, as her point seemed to settle in. "Oh."

Marinette pulled away, and reached under the tree for a gift wrapped in green paper, tied with a black satin bow. She'd wrapped it only last night. And though he tried to hide the look of curiosity in his eyes, it brought a glow to her face. "Here."

He held it at arms length, regarded it strangely. "Is. . . this my present?"

Her face beamed with a smile, and she nodded. "Open it."

"But it's not Christmas yet." He looked aghast. "And. . . I didn't give you anything."

"You already did." She threw her arms around him and squeezed tight. "And you're full of the most important ingredient. That's enough, _minou_."

He didn't answer at first, or even move. Marinette saw the glisten in his green eyes, and it was enough to make her wish she never had to let go of him. She snuggled into his shoulder, and her gaze roamed to the gift in his hands. Slowly, he pulled off the bow, and shifted so he could set it atop her head. He gave her a satisfied smile, and that playful spark returned to his eyes.

"Just open it already." Though she pretended to be annoyed, really, she wouldn't have changed a thing about this moment, cuddled beneath the tree. Though it would have been more comfortable if he wasn't rolled up in paper.

Eventually, Adrien worked past the ribbon, the green wrapping, and tissue paper, until he reached the gift inside. A pair of gloves, a soft blue, like a powdery sky. Marinette had knit them herself, though she didn't need to tell him. She could tell he knew already, the way he handled them so carefully.

"These are beautiful."

She smiled so wide, her eyes squished closed. "Thank you."

"They even match the scarf my Father gave me. . . Hey." He tipped his head to get a better look at her. "Isn't this the same yarn?"

"H-haha, w-wow really?"

"Marinette."

She lurched forward to scoop the ceramic dish from the floor, and held it out to him. "Want another cookie?"

Adrien turned away, as if to remove the temptation from his line of sight. Instead, he looked down at the gloves, gaze stubbornly intent.

Marinette sat frozen, cookies in hand. "Adrien?"

"It was you, wasn't it?"

She sighed, and set the plate down. "You weren't supposed to figure it out." She reached out for his hand, and he responded quickly, to lace his fingers tight with her own.

"But Marinette." He finally raised his head to look at her. "That was all before we'd even started dating."

"Yeah. . ." Her cheeks turned rosy. "It was."

His eyebrows drew together. "But why? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it made you happy," she said, hushed and full of butterflies just recalling that day. "I didn't want to take that away from you."

"Marinette. . ." His voice broke, and his grip on her hand tightened, as if he were afraid she'd let go. "That might be the sweetest thing anyone's done for me. Ever."

She brushed at the hair framing his face, and smiled, to try and cheer up the sad eyes looking down at her. "I'd do it again, you know."

"I think I understand now."

"Oh?"

"What you meant." His gaze was soft as he looked at her. "About the special ingredient. You're more than I could ever ask for."

Her own eyes grew misty, and unsure of a smooth way to respond, she lovingly booped his nose. "Joyeux Noël, Adrien."

Some of the tension left his body, and he managed just a _small_ smile. But it was enough, to her, to light up the whole room. Because it was him, and he was _here,_ and _he_ was more than she could have asked for.

He leaned closer, to place a tender kiss to her forehead. "Joyeux Noël, _ma colombe."_

* * *

That evening Adrien stayed to have supper with her family. Afterwards, they played charades. It had been her dad's idea, and perhaps his way of trying to cheer a certain someone up. He'd been right, though. The game was enough to get every one of them bursting with laughter, short of breath, and left with tears in their eyes. Then, because they were on a baker's schedule, Tom and Sabine retired for the night.

Adrien didn't have to try hard to coax Marinette into staying up to watch some anime. The young couple snuggled on the couch, under a gray and white polka dotted blanket. She rested her head against his shoulder, and held the bowl of popcorn, nestled in her lap. They'd turned off the lights, so the room was lit only by the Christmas tree and the screen.

As the clock crept forward, Marinette caught him glancing more and more at the time. She knew without asking, he was worried about his Father finding out how late he'd stayed out. Even as the credits of the episode they'd just finished began to roll, he stayed right where he was, as if he couldn't bring himself to leave. Marinette would have been perfectly content to let him stay right there, to keep her warm, to feel his strong arm wrapped around her shoulders.

A peaceful quiet fell over the house, and Marinette absently picked up the remote to turn the television off. "What time is it?" she asked, because she knew he'd know.

"Nearly midnight."

"Hey." She gently jabbed at his side with an elbow. "Y'know what? We should go out for a patrol."

"What, tomorrow?"

"No." She tugged at the blanket, in an effort to free her legs. She forced the half empty bowl into his hands, so she could get to her feet. "Now."

"What, _right_ now?"

She gave him a sly look. "What other now is there?" And then, she pulled a softer smile, almost shy. "Please?"

He shrugged in defeat. "Alright." He swung from his comfortable spot on the couch. "But you know it's cold out there, right?"

Even so, Marinette had already made up her mind. They suited up, and the red and green light of their transformations flashed through the darkened room. They crept up the stairs to her balcony, and took off into the night. He'd been right. It _was_ cold. Though their suits took care of the brunt of it, it didn't stop their cheeks from turning rosy and their noses from numbing.

As they flew over the rooftops of Paris, more than a few caught a glimpse of something darting past their windows. Some saw the flash of red, and wondered if Father Christmas had passed them by. But there was one child, staring wide eyed out their window, who saw the pair of heroes pause on a balcony across the way. She gasped, her eyes now saucers.

It was Chat Noir's enhanced ears that caught the sound. He turned, a dark figure with glowing eyes. The sight may have frightened some, but the child erupted into giggles when he shot her a smile and a wave.

Eventually the two paused to look out over the glow of citylights, and the homes that glittered with Christmas lights in red, blue, and green. It was now well past midnight, and the city was more or less silent.

Ladybug's eyes swiveled down to her feet, to the layer of snow that blanketed the roof. She scooped a handful, and pat it just so. Chat had his back to her, and while he may have heard her, he seemed lost in thought, and wasn't paying her much attention. It was a perfect time to strike. After all, she had promised him a snowball fight. So she took aim, and. . . _Splat._ Right against the back of his head.

At first, he didn't react. But slowly, he turned to face her, cat ears drooped. "M'lady." He blinked. "I. . . did not expect this behavior from you."

Her hand came up to stifle the slightest of giggles. "Oh? Guess you don't know me as well as you thought."

Without breaking eye contact, he bent to gather his own handful of snow. Though Ladybug had an advantage in that, she saw it coming, and dodged to the side. It only escalated from there. Marinette had been in snowball fights before, but not like this. This was different. But what else would you expect from Ladybug and Chat Noir?

Neither was apparently ahead, and there came a point when both drew closer, in an effort to overwhelm their opponent. Both rushed for ammo, and ended up grappling with each other. Chat's height came to an advantage, as he put a significant amount of his super human strength into pushing against her small frame. He pushed until she came to the very brink of the roof. Her right foot stepped into nothing.

She cried out, as her balance spilled back, but Chat was right there, with an arm around her waist to catch her. They stilled, partially from the shock of what nearly happened, and because they were both out of breath. Their frantic exhales created a cloud of frosty air between them.

"Seems you nearly fell for me, Bugaboo."

She hadn't realized how cold she'd become until she felt the warmth that came with his touch. "It seems I already have."

Chat drew her closer to him, and she found her own footing. Still, neither moved away. She splayed her hands against the front of his suit. "Truce?"

"Truce." He allowed a Cheshire grin to split his face. "We both knew who was winning anyway."

She flicked the bell at his collar, and the ring filled the quiet around them. "Yeah. We do, don't we?"

It was then, that music began to drift from a window nearby. The gentle voices of a choir warmed the chill night. Ladybug put her arms around his neck, curled closer to him, and closed her eyes to savor the ghost of a melody.

" _. . .Trois anges sont venus ce soir."_

Chat Noir tilted his head down, his forehead coming to rest against her own. "Marinette?"

"Yes?"

"May I have this dance?"

"Yes." Her eyes shined like the stars far above them. "You may."

Snow fell fresh around them, like a veil of white. The lights shined beneath them, the sky like velvet. And he took her hand. Though she hadn't more than a vague idea of what she should do, he led her, hand at the small of her back, keeping her close. One step, two step, three step, four.

" _Noël, Noël, nous venons du ciel."_

He twirled her around, and there in the twilight, his hair peppered with fresh snow, his suit glinting in the city's glow, eyes bright, Ladybug wrapped the moment up, like a package to keep and to hold forever. At the time, she'd mostly been trying to soothe his worry. But now, she realized that to be with him here, to just _have him,_ really was a gift. One she would treasure, far more than any material thing he could have bought her.

 _La Fin_

* * *

 **I'll be transparent and say this fic was inspired in no small part by Owl City's song Humbug.**

 **LB and Chat Noir are dancing to** _ **Trois Anges Sont Venus Ce Soir**_ **. While I wrote, I listened to Marie-Michèle Desrosiers singing the song. (If you're curious, it's on youtube.)**

 **I wish you all a merry holiday season. And this Christmas, make sure you have the most important ingredient! (Sorry, I know I'm sappy.)**

 **Oh, and if you liked what you just read, I have a multi chapter mlb fic called** _ **Trust Me**_ **you can check out. :D**


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